Family
This was written for such_heights for her birthday and originally posted over at a surprise birthday com cities_of_song.
Family, a Star Trek (Movie Reality) drabble.
Winona could never forget her first meeting with the infamous Tiberius. George had been actively dreading it for so long that her laughing protests of, "He's your father - it'll be fine" had begun to feel more like a fizzling tablet burning a whole through her tongue than a foreknown conclusion. Wasn't shore leave supposed to make her feel more relaxed?
Her hands clenched in front of her stomach. She was upbeat. She had never failed to charm. Hell, she'd joined Starfleet and found the attentions of the most attractive man she'd ever seen falling upon her shoulders. It was a weight she'd gladly carried over drinks, some overzealous (and not strictly necessary) private self-defense lessons and a few nights of finding George nearly catatonic on the viewing deck. He'd clung to her so tightly there was no possible way for her to even think to run away.
She'd never thought, really truly thought about how she took care of George. More importantly, Winona never wondered about how George took care of her. She would never know about the manipulative, cold letters from her mother or the way he carefully combed through her food to make sure there were no uttaberries hiding under a stray lettuce leaf. She would especially never know about Athos' digestive spectacular in the large hall on Deck C and the hasty movement of their wedding ceremony to Deck B.
Hands covered hers, and her back found the front of George Kirk. A smile immediately spread across her face without her approval as she looked up into his cheek. She wished she were taller.
"We're going to be fine," he murmured into her hair. He tapped her belly with his thumb like he always did for good luck before pulling himself away. "Besides, we can always sneak out and have burgers after, if mom's cooking goes awry. I have Will on strict orders to call at 9, just in case we have an 'unexpected emergency'. Boredom counts as an emergency, right?"
Her heart had pounded and her palms had grown sweaty. This was not a reaction she was used to. Putting on a brave face she looked seriously at George and said. "George, before we go in there I have to say: I lo-" but the door swung open and the world went dark.
But the poor girl had fallen in love again, if it were possible. The gruff older man swept her up into a crippling hug that George had to rip his new wife out of and scold Tiberius for, a little harsher than necessary. George's mother had stared hard at the couple and then pronounced the small, infant words to the room, all knowing like some women are.
The talking and laughing went on until the wee hours of the morning.
---
Everything could be boiled down to simple numbers. Human error was always at the root of the problem, not the formulas. Humans created computers and humans are imperfect therefore computers are imperfect. If A equals B and B equals C than A equals C. Transitive Property of Equality, right here, in his own thought process! A miracle of mathematics.
The problem with the human brain, however, is that it is limited and non-omniscient. Everything seems to be on the edge of chaos, constantly moving through different modes of behavior. The variable (his mind thought the word with pinpoint precision) was hard to pin down from the vantage point of a human being and, actually, there was probably more than one variable.
In this case, Chekov would reflect later, the variables were thusly:
- an unknown member of the crew reading through very personal files because he was bored on his weekend temporarily relieved of duty by Spock
-one frighteningly determined communications officer barging into said unknown member of crew's quarters while reading through said personal files
-the lounge being cleared out by an overworked helmsman who was determined to try out his secret dream of learning to bar tend
-a blown engine leading to the emptying of the bridge, engine and medical centers while the Enterprise awaited replacements and supplies from the federation
Pavel was relatively certain those were the factors that led to him being walked briskly down the hallway by Doctor McCoy, whose fist was bunched up around a chunk of uniform that had formerly had a comfortable home lying flat around the back of Pavel's neck.
"Sir?" he waivered for the fifth time. McCoy's eyebrows were knit together but were not in the position that Chekov had labeled as "figure 4", where they were practically indistinguishable from his nose and made four very pronounced lines across his forehead. This is how he knew McCoy was only mildly unhappy, which was really almost all the time.
The unreadable brown eyes of the ship's chief medical officer glanced at the small man being practically dragged on the tip of his toes. Internally, McCoy felt himself become amused. "What is it now, kid?"
"Sir, I was just wondering if you like dogs," Chekov said and, for a moment, the doctor wondered if he'd misheard the lanky Russian through the thicket of his accent.
McCoy stopped and stared at the boy. There was no hint of humor in his face (but then maybe it was his new attempt to be subtly funny. Those attempts had generally been failing) and no hesitation in his voice. The doctor answered cautiously, "Not particularly. Why?"
"Your gruff demeanor reminds me of my father. Grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, dragging me down the hall but generally acting kind." Pavel could see he was losing the other man's interest fast, so he hurried on, "It's just that, sir, whenever he would see a dog he would pretend to hate it and, when he thought no one was looking, he would fuss over it."
As if that explained everything. McCoy stared at the child - well, technically adult. He was 18 as of today, able to drink. For a brief moment Leonard McCoy wondered if Pavel Chekov had started on the sauce early and left him out of the festivities. Then he remembered that Chekov was the kid who had been horrified to strip down to his requisition black Starfleet boxers for yearly check-ups and laughed out loud.
"No, Chekov. Never liked dogs," McCoy said, continuing on the war path to the lounge. It was the truth. Pavel just hadn't asked about cats. The cat had adopted the surly doctor as one of its own. What choice did he have? He couldn't just leave it. Especially not the one Leonard had rescued on their last shore leave to Earth that was living in his quarters illegally. It even spilled bottles of beer just to drink the leftovers now and then. Cat after his own heart.
---
Sulu hadn't broken many of the bottles, for which Scotty applauded him raucously for. The crazy Asian had even managed to learn how to do some fancy air-tricks with them over the last hour and a half. Granted, they were all on the far edge of tipsiness and putting a bottle upright on the first try would have impressed them at this point.
Chekov was red from laughter. Being 18 was fun. Old enough to drink, old enough to drive without a restricted driver's license. Not that that particularly mattered to him, what with being the middle of the heavens and all.
"No, lieu- Uhura," he said, coming out of his fit of laughter. He glanced at Kirk, whose head was still face down on the table, shoulders shaking silently but for the occasional gasp of breath. Pavel was pretty sure it was somehow against regulations to be drinking like this, but no one else seemed to care. They were a regulation unto themselves.
"Nyota, the light utensil may only be used by wizards," Spock said calmly from behind a small paper screen, a slight rosy flush on his usually pale face. A small smirk had been plastered there all evening and it made Chekov feel like it was alright to feel young for the day.
Uhura bit her lip and frowned over the Storyteller's screen at Spock. "But McCoy just- Oh. He's a thingy. That's right," she mumbled to herself. She stared at the holographic figures and tried to piece together the rules in her head again. The alcohol was not helping her strategy at all. "Can I try to persuade one of the guards to tell me which is telling the truth?" she wondered at the Vulcan before her.
Spock stared at her for a moment and cocked his head to the side. She took this to be a 'no'. "I'm afraid that would end badly," he said quietly, the smirk growing.
A mumbled insult came from her left and the general wafting direction of Leonard McCoy.
"Alright. Fine," she said with deadly precision. "I want to backstab McCoy."
The doctor jerked his chin downward and gave her his best drunken glare through the haze of chuckling that was trying to claw its way out of his body. "We're on the same team, you demented linguist," he growled.
The slender shoulders of Uhura lifted and fell in a non-chalant shrug. "Then I defect," she said, chin upward and beer clutched firmly in her hand. "I defect and I'm taking Sulu with me."
Sulu's chin came off the table at an alarming rate. "I'll go anywhere with you," he said quickly. Spock raised an eyebrow. Hikaru winced and shook his head, knowing how the next ten minutes would go down. Uhura was sprouting insults in other languages faster than he could even try to keep up. McCoy was actually looking jovial and Spock was talking calmly over her, changing the subject deftly as only he could.
Amongst the laughing, teasing and winding conversation that followed, Scotty and Kirk sidled up to Chekov. The grin on the face of Pavel was unparalleled. "Good birthday, eh, Cheky?" Scotty said jovially, stealing a bottle from McCoy's pile while left unattended.
Pavel nodded and looked at the stars sitting still before him. The lounge was blessed with one of the best views on the ship. It made him remember all the reasons he fell in love with The Big Black Vacuum of Death (as Scotty and McCoy enjoyed calling it).
He looked to his right at the inquisitive and oddly serious face of Kirk, who clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You picked an interesting way to spend your birthing into adulthood, Pavel," he said, breath exuding the smell of good whiskey.
The chair held Chekov's tired, inebriated body as the smile on his face began to make his face ache. "Tabletop roleplaying game, classic Earth movies on the view screens and cake. That's all it takes," he said, eyes blearily focusing on Kirk's face. "Glad everyone is here," he said quietly. "This is the best birthday I've ever had."
The brotherly concern made way to a pleased grin. Pavel felt the sledgehammer of Kirk's fist hit his shoulder again and grit his teeth, willing himself not to jump like he had on many occasions before. "Not quite," the captain said, his voice a slightly higher octave than usual. Chekov could sense the scheming and did not like it.
"Ah," said a burrish voice in his ear. Chekov had almost forgotten Scotty to his left. The man had been quietly drinking more of McCoy's beer. "See, James here and I were thinking you'd want a wee gift of some sort. I've noticed you down in the engine room lately and, well," he lost his wording and grinned and the captain. "We're going to talk to her for you."
Chekov froze. "What?" The playful bickering between the others died down.
Kirk patted his shoulder and smiled, pride for a good deed in the doing written all over his face. "The engineering girl. We'll give you some opportunities there. Just be on your toes and you might get a tumble in the engine room."
Chekov stared for a moment. "Чушь собачья."
The silence was shattered by Uhura's laughter and the calls of a Scottish man for more life water. Spock even joined in a little this time and toasted an eloquent if not somewhat rambling speech to the birthday boy during which Sulu revealed a fantastic talent for imitating the Vulcan.
The talking and laughing went on until the wee hours of the morning.
Extra note: The Russian is supposedly slang for 'Bullshit'. I know some Russian but not enough to know if that's accurate or not. We'll just go with it, shall we? hahaha <3
And now for something completely different.
Hey, look! It's liviapenn:
Family, a Star Trek (Movie Reality) drabble.
Winona could never forget her first meeting with the infamous Tiberius. George had been actively dreading it for so long that her laughing protests of, "He's your father - it'll be fine" had begun to feel more like a fizzling tablet burning a whole through her tongue than a foreknown conclusion. Wasn't shore leave supposed to make her feel more relaxed?
Her hands clenched in front of her stomach. She was upbeat. She had never failed to charm. Hell, she'd joined Starfleet and found the attentions of the most attractive man she'd ever seen falling upon her shoulders. It was a weight she'd gladly carried over drinks, some overzealous (and not strictly necessary) private self-defense lessons and a few nights of finding George nearly catatonic on the viewing deck. He'd clung to her so tightly there was no possible way for her to even think to run away.
She'd never thought, really truly thought about how she took care of George. More importantly, Winona never wondered about how George took care of her. She would never know about the manipulative, cold letters from her mother or the way he carefully combed through her food to make sure there were no uttaberries hiding under a stray lettuce leaf. She would especially never know about Athos' digestive spectacular in the large hall on Deck C and the hasty movement of their wedding ceremony to Deck B.
Hands covered hers, and her back found the front of George Kirk. A smile immediately spread across her face without her approval as she looked up into his cheek. She wished she were taller.
"We're going to be fine," he murmured into her hair. He tapped her belly with his thumb like he always did for good luck before pulling himself away. "Besides, we can always sneak out and have burgers after, if mom's cooking goes awry. I have Will on strict orders to call at 9, just in case we have an 'unexpected emergency'. Boredom counts as an emergency, right?"
Her heart had pounded and her palms had grown sweaty. This was not a reaction she was used to. Putting on a brave face she looked seriously at George and said. "George, before we go in there I have to say: I lo-" but the door swung open and the world went dark.
But the poor girl had fallen in love again, if it were possible. The gruff older man swept her up into a crippling hug that George had to rip his new wife out of and scold Tiberius for, a little harsher than necessary. George's mother had stared hard at the couple and then pronounced the small, infant words to the room, all knowing like some women are.
The talking and laughing went on until the wee hours of the morning.
---
Everything could be boiled down to simple numbers. Human error was always at the root of the problem, not the formulas. Humans created computers and humans are imperfect therefore computers are imperfect. If A equals B and B equals C than A equals C. Transitive Property of Equality, right here, in his own thought process! A miracle of mathematics.
The problem with the human brain, however, is that it is limited and non-omniscient. Everything seems to be on the edge of chaos, constantly moving through different modes of behavior. The variable (his mind thought the word with pinpoint precision) was hard to pin down from the vantage point of a human being and, actually, there was probably more than one variable.
In this case, Chekov would reflect later, the variables were thusly:
- an unknown member of the crew reading through very personal files because he was bored on his weekend temporarily relieved of duty by Spock
-one frighteningly determined communications officer barging into said unknown member of crew's quarters while reading through said personal files
-the lounge being cleared out by an overworked helmsman who was determined to try out his secret dream of learning to bar tend
-a blown engine leading to the emptying of the bridge, engine and medical centers while the Enterprise awaited replacements and supplies from the federation
Pavel was relatively certain those were the factors that led to him being walked briskly down the hallway by Doctor McCoy, whose fist was bunched up around a chunk of uniform that had formerly had a comfortable home lying flat around the back of Pavel's neck.
"Sir?" he waivered for the fifth time. McCoy's eyebrows were knit together but were not in the position that Chekov had labeled as "figure 4", where they were practically indistinguishable from his nose and made four very pronounced lines across his forehead. This is how he knew McCoy was only mildly unhappy, which was really almost all the time.
The unreadable brown eyes of the ship's chief medical officer glanced at the small man being practically dragged on the tip of his toes. Internally, McCoy felt himself become amused. "What is it now, kid?"
"Sir, I was just wondering if you like dogs," Chekov said and, for a moment, the doctor wondered if he'd misheard the lanky Russian through the thicket of his accent.
McCoy stopped and stared at the boy. There was no hint of humor in his face (but then maybe it was his new attempt to be subtly funny. Those attempts had generally been failing) and no hesitation in his voice. The doctor answered cautiously, "Not particularly. Why?"
"Your gruff demeanor reminds me of my father. Grabbing me by the scruff of the neck, dragging me down the hall but generally acting kind." Pavel could see he was losing the other man's interest fast, so he hurried on, "It's just that, sir, whenever he would see a dog he would pretend to hate it and, when he thought no one was looking, he would fuss over it."
As if that explained everything. McCoy stared at the child - well, technically adult. He was 18 as of today, able to drink. For a brief moment Leonard McCoy wondered if Pavel Chekov had started on the sauce early and left him out of the festivities. Then he remembered that Chekov was the kid who had been horrified to strip down to his requisition black Starfleet boxers for yearly check-ups and laughed out loud.
"No, Chekov. Never liked dogs," McCoy said, continuing on the war path to the lounge. It was the truth. Pavel just hadn't asked about cats. The cat had adopted the surly doctor as one of its own. What choice did he have? He couldn't just leave it. Especially not the one Leonard had rescued on their last shore leave to Earth that was living in his quarters illegally. It even spilled bottles of beer just to drink the leftovers now and then. Cat after his own heart.
---
Sulu hadn't broken many of the bottles, for which Scotty applauded him raucously for. The crazy Asian had even managed to learn how to do some fancy air-tricks with them over the last hour and a half. Granted, they were all on the far edge of tipsiness and putting a bottle upright on the first try would have impressed them at this point.
Chekov was red from laughter. Being 18 was fun. Old enough to drink, old enough to drive without a restricted driver's license. Not that that particularly mattered to him, what with being the middle of the heavens and all.
"No, lieu- Uhura," he said, coming out of his fit of laughter. He glanced at Kirk, whose head was still face down on the table, shoulders shaking silently but for the occasional gasp of breath. Pavel was pretty sure it was somehow against regulations to be drinking like this, but no one else seemed to care. They were a regulation unto themselves.
"Nyota, the light utensil may only be used by wizards," Spock said calmly from behind a small paper screen, a slight rosy flush on his usually pale face. A small smirk had been plastered there all evening and it made Chekov feel like it was alright to feel young for the day.
Uhura bit her lip and frowned over the Storyteller's screen at Spock. "But McCoy just- Oh. He's a thingy. That's right," she mumbled to herself. She stared at the holographic figures and tried to piece together the rules in her head again. The alcohol was not helping her strategy at all. "Can I try to persuade one of the guards to tell me which is telling the truth?" she wondered at the Vulcan before her.
Spock stared at her for a moment and cocked his head to the side. She took this to be a 'no'. "I'm afraid that would end badly," he said quietly, the smirk growing.
A mumbled insult came from her left and the general wafting direction of Leonard McCoy.
"Alright. Fine," she said with deadly precision. "I want to backstab McCoy."
The doctor jerked his chin downward and gave her his best drunken glare through the haze of chuckling that was trying to claw its way out of his body. "We're on the same team, you demented linguist," he growled.
The slender shoulders of Uhura lifted and fell in a non-chalant shrug. "Then I defect," she said, chin upward and beer clutched firmly in her hand. "I defect and I'm taking Sulu with me."
Sulu's chin came off the table at an alarming rate. "I'll go anywhere with you," he said quickly. Spock raised an eyebrow. Hikaru winced and shook his head, knowing how the next ten minutes would go down. Uhura was sprouting insults in other languages faster than he could even try to keep up. McCoy was actually looking jovial and Spock was talking calmly over her, changing the subject deftly as only he could.
Amongst the laughing, teasing and winding conversation that followed, Scotty and Kirk sidled up to Chekov. The grin on the face of Pavel was unparalleled. "Good birthday, eh, Cheky?" Scotty said jovially, stealing a bottle from McCoy's pile while left unattended.
Pavel nodded and looked at the stars sitting still before him. The lounge was blessed with one of the best views on the ship. It made him remember all the reasons he fell in love with The Big Black Vacuum of Death (as Scotty and McCoy enjoyed calling it).
He looked to his right at the inquisitive and oddly serious face of Kirk, who clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You picked an interesting way to spend your birthing into adulthood, Pavel," he said, breath exuding the smell of good whiskey.
The chair held Chekov's tired, inebriated body as the smile on his face began to make his face ache. "Tabletop roleplaying game, classic Earth movies on the view screens and cake. That's all it takes," he said, eyes blearily focusing on Kirk's face. "Glad everyone is here," he said quietly. "This is the best birthday I've ever had."
The brotherly concern made way to a pleased grin. Pavel felt the sledgehammer of Kirk's fist hit his shoulder again and grit his teeth, willing himself not to jump like he had on many occasions before. "Not quite," the captain said, his voice a slightly higher octave than usual. Chekov could sense the scheming and did not like it.
"Ah," said a burrish voice in his ear. Chekov had almost forgotten Scotty to his left. The man had been quietly drinking more of McCoy's beer. "See, James here and I were thinking you'd want a wee gift of some sort. I've noticed you down in the engine room lately and, well," he lost his wording and grinned and the captain. "We're going to talk to her for you."
Chekov froze. "What?" The playful bickering between the others died down.
Kirk patted his shoulder and smiled, pride for a good deed in the doing written all over his face. "The engineering girl. We'll give you some opportunities there. Just be on your toes and you might get a tumble in the engine room."
Chekov stared for a moment. "Чушь собачья."
The silence was shattered by Uhura's laughter and the calls of a Scottish man for more life water. Spock even joined in a little this time and toasted an eloquent if not somewhat rambling speech to the birthday boy during which Sulu revealed a fantastic talent for imitating the Vulcan.
The talking and laughing went on until the wee hours of the morning.
Extra note: The Russian is supposedly slang for 'Bullshit'. I know some Russian but not enough to know if that's accurate or not. We'll just go with it, shall we? hahaha <3
And now for something completely different.
Hey, look! It's liviapenn:
- An extremely well written rant about Uhura in the movieverse and sexism in fandom.
- Gender Switch Star Trek Movie Cast because, apparently, I am the last person to the party. The disturbing thing, to me, is how easily I accepted all the dudes on the bridge but when I saw all the girls on the list I did a double-take. BUT I LIKE IT and was actually just thinking about how I would like to see more women on Star Trek.